Faculty in Focus: Lori Laliberte, Lower School Grade 1 Teacher

The Graded Gazette


Nature thrives in Ms. Lori Laliberte’s classroom. Stepping inside feels like a breath of fresh air—a retreat from São Paulo’s concrete landscape. A collection of Brazilian native plants, a jar filled with cicada exoskeletons, an abandoned bird nest, and a vivarium buzzing with darkling beetles in various stages of metamorphosis are just a few of the things that might capture your attention when the space welcomes you. What may seem ordinary to some is displayed as the extraordinary—an invitation to explore, discover, and let curiosity flourish. Her classroom reflects not just a love for the environment but a belief that connecting with these small things may help change how students see the world.

Lori obtained her BA in social and rehabilitation services from Assumption College in Worcester, MA, and later earned her master’s in curriculum and instruction from the University of Colorado, Boulder. 

In this issue of The Graded Gazette, Lori reflects on what she loves about teaching first graders, her quiet passion for photography, and the story behind adopting her two dogs, Bia and Enzo.
 

When did you first realize you wanted to be a teacher?

Growing up, I often dreamed of becoming an artist. I loved experimenting with different media and was especially talented at making a mess. While my family didn’t see art as a practical path for college, creativity has always been an integral part of who I am, organically finding its way into other aspects of my life. 

In college, I became increasingly interested in social justice and education, and chose to study both. Teaching became the perfect intersection—a place where I could nurture the whole child, explore issues from multiple perspectives, advocate for equity, and use the classroom as a powerful space for connection, meaning-making, and joy.

Working with multilingual learners, I have found art to be a familiar, shared language. Drawing is often a child’s first language; many do so before they write. This comfortable form of communication proves far less risky than putting words on the page. Rarely a day goes by without us drawing something together. Blending visual expression with academic learning can feel like creative play, but it also strengthens our ability to notice, wonder, and remember.
 

Lori teaching her first-grade students.


What do you love most about teaching first grade?

Many might imagine the job of teaching six- and seven-year-olds as tireless days of herding cats. While it does require a similar energy, what I enjoy most is being surrounded by humans who still find awe in the simple things: a cardboard box, a spider’s web, a seed taking root, or clouds reflected in a puddle. Their sense of wonder helps me to lead a more wide-awake life, tuning in to what is often overlooked.

I also appreciate empowering children to realize they are capable: capable of crafting beautiful work, solving significant problems, standing up for others, and being leaders of positive change. First graders often arrive unaware of their full capacity but leave as invested readers, storytellers, researchers, mathematicians, scientists, and environmental stewards. Grade 1 proves to be a year of profound transformation.

Snapshot Lori took of a drawing containing her mantra, "I will be kind and gentle to all living things."


Having taught at an experiential learning school, how do you cultivate that spirit of exploration with your students here in São Paulo? 

A belief I hold tightly is that relationships are foundational to learning. When we take the time to earn trust and build strong connections, meaningful and purpose-driven work happens more naturally, and students rise to the challenge. Children are more receptive to a gentle nudge when they sense it comes from a place of genuine interest and support.

My time teaching at an experiential learning school deeply shaped the philosophy of being crew, not passengers—recognizing we don’t navigate life alone. We are stronger together as families, teams, learning communities, and friends. 

This ethos lives in my classroom at Graded. I strive to create a learning environment where collaboration, curiosity, and shared responsibility are at the center. It's through the power of the group that children begin to understand their place in the world and discover how to use their strengths for positive change.

What lessons do you aim to instill in your students?

We are living in a time when the future feels increasingly uncertain, unlike anything we can currently imagine. In light of that, I hope to teach my students how to be fully in the present: to notice, to wonder, to question, and to speak up when the status quo no longer serves the people or the planet.

I hope I help nurture in them a deep and reverent connection to the natural world—not just to learn about it, but to build a relationship with it. My hope is that this connection grows into a sense of responsibility and a desire to protect what they love.

Above all, I want my students to understand the interconnectedness of all living things—that which affects one, affects many—and to carry with them the belief that we must do better, together.
 

Lori helping students with a classroom activity.


How does immersing yourself in nature impact you, especially living in a bustling city like São Paulo?

Time in the natural world helps me return to a calmer, more grounded version of myself. Living in São Paulo, I’m grateful for the opportunities the city brings, but its pace can be daunting. Climbing mountains and sleeping outdoors helps me slow down and focus on basic needs: food, water, shelter, space, and breath. This is increasingly difficult in a world that values speed and productivity and offers constant stimulation, but it is necessary for well-being. Being an educator requires constant presence, quick decision-making, and deep emotional attunement—nature offers a quiet spaciousness to reset. 

You’ve also lived and taught in Bangladesh. Can you share any particularly vivid memories?

One of my most memorable experiences was heading out most weekends on our bicycles. As a group of brave cyclists, we would weave through the vibrant chaos of Dhaka—buses, cars, rickshaws, stray dogs, chickens, and the occasional elephant—our hearts pounding, our breath held. But within ten minutes, the noise would fall away, and the city’s intensity would shift entirely.

Beyond the dusty, overwhelmed city limits, we were transported. In the quiet expanse of rice fields, we witnessed lives rooted in hard work and deep simplicity—people cooking over open flames, repairing rather than replacing, tending animals, washing clothes by hand, laundry sunning on lines. Barefoot children created joy with sticks and wheels. Women in bright, patterned saris and men in lungis with lips stained by betel leaf greeted us with curiosity and kindness—the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen.

There was a peacefulness in those weekends that will forever stay with us—a slower, steadier rhythm that helped us better understand and appreciate the beauty beyond the boundaries of Dhaka.

Lori posing with her camera during a bike ride in Dhaka.


Photography is another passion of yours. What captivates you through the lens of your camera?

I’ve never taken a formal photography lesson, but I’ve always been drawn to light—how it transforms shape, color, and spaces. I don’t spend much time composing a shot; I tend to snap quickly, hoping I’ve captured whatever moment or detail caught my eye. I take photos while walking my dogs, riding in cars, or on my bike—rarely standing still. Lately, I’ve been using my phone more than my camera, agreeing with the saying: the best camera is the one you have with you. I’m most often drawn to small things—raindrops, insects, shadows, thorns—the kinds of details that are easy to miss but quietly beautiful. My camera invites me to pause and observe; to take in the light, texture, and movement. Photography, for me, is a way of paying closer attention.
 

A moment Lori captured during a bike ride in Bangladesh.


What have been some of your most unforgettable hiking adventures? How do you choose your destinations?

As a child, I spent hours poring over National Geographic magazines. My grandfather gifted me each issue, and I carefully lined them up on a shelf in our toy room, fascinated by the topics listed on the yellow spines. I was drawn to the diversity of human experience and the incredible flora and fauna found in remote parts of the world. Endlessly turning those pages sparked a quiet curiosity that has always stayed with me. 

Top Left: Lori and her husband, Jon Exall, on a trip to Kilimanjaro. Bottom Left: Lori posing with her childhood dream vehicle, a VW Poptop, which she received in place of a traditional engagement ring. Right: Scenes and details captured by Lori's camera.


One of my favorite quotes is by Kent Nerburn, who says, "That is why we need to travel. If we don't offer ourself to the unknown, our senses dull. Our world becomes small, and we lose our sense of wonder. Our eyes don't lift to the horizon; our ears don't hear the sounds around us. The edge is off our experience, and we pass our days in a routine that is both comfortable and limiting. We wake up one day and find that we have lost our dreams in order to protect our days."

Over the years, I’ve been fortunate to witness moments that I once considered far-off dreams—observing orangutans and pitcher plants in the jungles of Borneo, watching the sun rise over Kinabalu and Kilimanjaro, hiking through the terraced rice fields of Sapa, or even just watching the bright green parrots announce the dawn from my balcony here in Brazil. A favorite expedition was a month of backpacking and car camping in Iceland. I found a really cool map called The Photographer’s Guide to Iceland, and this was all we used to chart our course each day. It rained for at least part of every 24 hours, but there were frequent natural hot pools to jump into… and we did. It was a soggy, healing adventure.
 

Left: Lori hugging a tree during a trip to the Amazon in December 2024. Right: Some of Lori's photos from around Brazil.


What are three places in São Paulo that have captured your heart?

We lived in Jardim Paulista for our first three years in Brazil, joining Graded in 2020 at the height of the pandemic. We met our neighborhood when no stores or restaurants were allowed to be open. At night, we would often hear a lone saxophone player fill the empty street with his song. I’ll always have a special place in my heart for the quiet passing of time in that neighborhood. I also love wandering Vila Madalena with its riot of graffiti-covered walls and convoluted sidewalks that demand you watch every step. The live music coming from the corner botecos and the abundance of coffee shops to duck into for a slice of bolo make the neighborhood a treat. I also find the architecture of the OSESP symphony hall and the Pinacoteca museum to be quite beautiful.
 

What’s the story behind how you came to adopt your two dogs during the pandemic?

One of the things we learned before moving to São Paulo was how dog-friendly the city is. As two teachers living in an apartment, it wasn’t exactly the perfect setup for dog ownership, but we also knew we didn’t want long stretches of life without canine companionship. When the pandemic had us working from home, I took it as a sign. I convinced my husband, Jon, to just go and look.

We visited a local shelter I’d been in contact with, arriving early in the morning and staying for hours, still undecided. A one-year-old caramelo named Enzo had clearly chosen Jon, and a six-month-old black vira lata, twice returned, had clearly chosen me. We hadn’t planned to adopt even one dog, let alone two. I suggested we take them for a walk to see who might do better on a leash. They were both perfect.

The shelter owner joked that it was “buy one, get one free”—a dog adoption in São Paulo costs less than 200 reais. She added, surprisingly, that we could try both and bring one back if it didn’t work out. A return policy? For dogs? Somehow, Jon agreed. And just like that, we left with no dog beds, no bowls, no leashes, and no toys—just two of the best decisions we’ve ever made. A quick stop at the pet shop took care of the essentials, and then onward to our old apartment on Potato Street. Fast forward five years—we now live much closer to school. The reason? Less time in traffic and more time with Enzo and Bia.

Bia—the bringer of joy. Our stealth shadow, our swamp monster and puddle jumper, our rambunctious playmate, our cat-focused canine, our other half. Our hungriest helper, our quiet cuddler, our curious investigator, our girl who groans, our tongue taster of tears. Our beautiful, black Beatriz Belacqua. 

Enzo Panserbjørne—all legs and love. Our ball-loving bounder, our golden monkey, our indifferent eater, our ever-alert protector, our bat-eared boy, our sweet cinnamon bun. Our sun-seeking, sensitive soul, our blanket burrower, our fox-nose nester, our flexible wiggler, our guy Smiley, and my perfect night spoon. We find there is always room for an Enzo.
 

Lori, her husband, Jon, and their dogs Bia and Enzo.